


Ode To Sleep

by Joshs_left_earlobe



Category: Hunger Games Series - All Media Types, Hunger Games Trilogy - Suzanne Collins, The Hunger Games (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M, Implied/Referenced Drug Addiction, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Rehabilitation, Self-Harm, everlark
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-26
Updated: 2015-10-26
Packaged: 2018-04-28 05:10:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 20,983
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5079094
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Joshs_left_earlobe/pseuds/Joshs_left_earlobe
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>My name is Katniss Everdeen. I’m seventeen years old.<br/>My father is dead. My mother is useless.<br/>My sister is separated from me and living with strangers.<br/>I’ve failed to kill myself twice.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Ode To Sleep

**Author's Note:**

> This story was inspired by the song Ode To Sleep by Twenty One Pilots. There are references to characters from The Hunger Games and contains direct and revised quotes from The Hunger Games books and movies. 
> 
> This was my entry for day 7 of Prompts in Panem's final round, Dreamscape Week and includes the theme symbolism from the entire week. (Cheeks, Rats, Explosions, Howls, Tongues, Ashes, and Thorns)

With paper in hand, I drag my feet down the hallway, the lighting dimmer than I would imagine in a facility such as this. I guess one benefit of 48 hour lock-up is that every other place looks that much better in comparison, no matter how dire your situation. My eyes dart back down to the typed letters: _10 AM Group Therapy - Suite 12_. I scan the signs posted at the corridor and find the location I’m seeking.

Effie, our teen coordinator, is very strict with our schedule. I’m surprised they haven’t found a way to have the whole day’s routine etched onto our arms. But I know if I’m late, I’ll definitely hear about it from her later at _3:00 Free Time/Meditation_. Being my first day out of confinement, I know she’ll be more tough on me; that’s what I hear anyway. So with my sweaty palm reaching to grip the door labeled _Suite 12_ , I close my eyes and slowly exhale.

I hear kids that come to these centers are rougher than those on the outside, but I’m here, and I’m pretty normal, right? Fuck, who am I kidding? I’m all kinds of screwed up. I’ve never hurt anybody though, not intentionally anyway.

A sudden slam against my body confirms my fears, as a flurry of spiky red hair and thick eye makeup knocks me to the side. “Hey girl, don’t just stand there. Make way for the rest of us!” She looks at me in what I can only imagine is disgust and mutters, “Brainless newbies,” as she stalks to her seat. I stand still, unmoving, as others file in past me.

Someone touches my hand, tries to grip it, but I slip it out quickly. I promised myself I wouldn’t panic, repeating my mantra that I’m safe. The blonde girl stares at me empathetically. She smiles and reaches out again. “It’s okay,” she says, taking my hand gently. “You can sit next to me.”

I feel myself nod as my feet move my body along with her. We nestle into a small couch in front of the window. There are several mismatched sofas, bean bags, and chairs scattered around the periphery of the group room. I wouldn't have pictured it like this, decorated comfortably like home; I thought it would be more like a classroom with desks and chairs. The windows allow the sun to shine in, which is a welcome sight after 48 hours stuck inside.

As the room fills with more kids, my new friend introduces herself. “Hi, I’m Madge. I’m sorry Johanna pushed you over like that.” She continues in a more hushed voice. “She can be a bully to the new girls, but once you get to know her, you’ll find she’s a softy at heart.” Madge has a pleasant look to her, and she seems kind of familiar to me. “You’re Katniss Everdeen, right?”

“Uh...” I stammer out the words. “Y-yes, I’m Katniss. Do we know each other?”

Her smile is so full of teeth and her hair so perfectly coiffed that I honestly don’t know how someone like Madge could end up in a place like this. She takes my hand again and tells me that we shared classes back in elementary school, but once her father became a member of the Panem City Council, he decided a private education was more fitting for her.

I offer thanks and tell her how much I could use a friend here as I casually move my hand from hers and place it back on my lap. I try to disregard her look of disappointment as I shift my body away, leaning my elbow on the arm of the sofa and tucking my legs underneath me.

It’s a comfortable environment, but it reeks of positivity. Posters on the wall with affirmations to appreciate the bad days as well as the good. The glass is half full rather than half empty. Blah blah blah. All this shit they feed us to improve our sad, hopeless lives knowing full well that we’ll continually try to rid ourselves of our existence.

Or at least do something to help us forget. If only I could forget.

I’m shaken out of my sullen state by the scratchy yet booming voice of our group leader. He says he’s Mr. Abernathy but to call him Haymitch. He looks like he’s been through the wringer a few times. Is this my future? Enough failed attempts at removing myself from this planet, and I get to be a babysitter for future generations of losers?

I may as well end it now.

But I can’t forget about Prim. Each failed attempt brings with it a sense of relief because I honestly don’t know what would happen to my sister if I died. She is the one thing I cling to when I spiral into that hopeless state. She’s my only tether to this living world.

When I do get a grain of hope, I realize that she only has a few more years until she’s an adult, whereas I just have several months. We can be together sooner than I’d imagined. It’s not as hopeless as I had once thought. With renewed determination, I listen intently to Haymitch as he explains the guidelines of group.

Once he’s reviewed basic human etiquette, we get to the most nerve-wracking part. “Some of you I’ve seen before, and some of you are new to this group. Let’s take a moment to tell everyone your name and why you’re here.”

 _My name is Katniss Everdeen. I’m seventeen years old. My father is dead. My mother is useless. My sister is separated from me and living with strangers. I’ve failed to kill myself twice._ ___Nice to meet you._

When it comes to me, I give the short version. “I’m Katniss. I swallowed a bottle of my anxiety meds and hoped to end it, but I woke up in the hospital and just got out of 48 hour hold.” No gasps. No shock. Just nods and faces reflecting my despair.

Madge reaches for my hand, squeezing it for support, I guess. I need to get used to her touchy feely behavior. A dark-skinned, short-haired linebacker-type guy sits next to us, taking up a whole couch. My other new “friend” Johanna is chomping and snapping her gum so loudly, I have trouble hearing what people are saying.

Next to her is a guy of medium build, wearing a partially torn t-shirt that covers his broad chest and shoulders as well as a pair of worn-down jeans. He has a couple of tattoos and piercings that I can barely see as his ashy blond waves fall down over his forehead, hiding his eyes. His posture and hair are oddly familiar, but I can’t seem to place him.

I stop nibbling on my nails when Haymitch gets to him so I can listen more carefully. “Okay, Peeta. What’s been on your mind today?”

 _Peeta... Mellark_?

He looks up and focuses solely on Haymitch. They seem to have a rapport, but I’m transfixed by seeing the innocent young boy that I knew from elementary school transformed into... into what? An unhappy, helpless soul who turned to alcohol to numb his pain and was apparently arrested with a DUI and assault with a deadly weapon.

“I hadn’t realized how tough it would be on my own. But I couldn’t live at home anymore, I just couldn’t. So for the past two years, I’ve been making friends and crashing at their places until they kicked me out. My ex hooked me up with a fake ID, so I’d been hanging in bars for the last few months, and I got a taste for the stuff. I was so fucking drunk that night, I don’t even remember putting a knife to that guy’s throat or getting on that motorcycle.” Peeta shakes his head and exhales loudly. “All I remember is waking up in jail. They had lots of witnesses though, so who was I to fight it—and with a rookie public defender? I’m just thankful he talked the judge down to mandatory rehab to avoid incarceration.”

Haymitch remains serious and asks him, “So what about the booze? Do you miss it?”

“I’m just taking it one day at a time. Glad I got through the withdrawal, but the cravings are the worst. Eight days today,” he says with a twinge of pride coloring his words.

That’s all I find out before he shuts down. When he glances up at the group, he turns toward Madge and me, and I’m sure I see a spark of recognition. But we’re not met with a smile as he immediately lowers his shadowed eyes and stares at his knees once again.

Peeta Mellark. His family operates their own business, Mellark’s Bakery, which still stands in town and, from what I can tell, flourishes. I had no idea their youngest son was having so many problems. But how would I have known? I didn’t see much of him after I was taken to the community home when I was thirteen.

A smile tugs at my lips as I remember simple things about the Peeta I used to know. Before my dad died, we made regular trips to his family’s bakery. I remember walking into the shop, the aromas of cinnamon, butter, and spices wafting into my nose, making my mouth water right on the spot.

Peeta would often come up to greet us, even if he’d been in the back helping. He always made me feel welcome with his big cheesy grin, the one that was just wide enough to form a little dimple on his right cheek. And he always packed an extra cinnamon roll for me too, pretending that he was sneaking it in, even though I’d already seen his father nudge him in encouragement. I actually looked forward to our weekend trips to Mellark’s.

I find it strange that there are two people from my past here with me. I’ve been in my sad little world while they’ve been dealing with their own issues as well. How selfish I must have been to believe I was the only one affected by pain and loss.

As the group comes to an end, Haymitch tells us to use our free time later to focus on our triggers, those things that cause us to feel the lowest, to act out and lose control. If I could determine that, I would be one step closer to self-realization, wouldn’t I? I snicker at the thought and look to Madge.

“What do you have next?” I ask, and she tells me she’s heading outside for a recreation group.

“I have Dr. Aurelius now,” I reply to her unspoken question. “See you at lunch?”

Her brightness returns, and she nods enthusiastically. “Yeah, I’ll catch you then, Katniss.”

 

* * *

 

I know Dr. Aurelius. He saw me after my last attempt but didn’t recommend intensive inpatient therapy. I guess since drugs weren’t involved last time, they thought I was lower risk. So they hid the knives and watched me like a hawk, not letting me lead any kind of normal life for the last 18 months.

It really didn’t matter anyway. For the last two years, Prim and I had been living in entirely separate counties. I got to see her on visitation every other weekend, which kept me going, but phone calls were scarce, and I wasn’t allowed a cell phone after my first attempt, so I’ve lead a pretty reclusive life up to now. My foster parents, the Crays, are good people for the most part, but the kids in the house have probably become too much for them to handle as they’re getting older.

I thought I had been doing a satisfactory job of feeding and raising Prim during my mother’s mental absence, but it had become obvious that we’d been thinning out, and our clothes had become more tattered. I really tried. I tried to keep us together as a family, but there was only so much I could do until the call had been placed anonymously by a “concerned citizen.” So within a month after the investigation had begun, Prim and I were taken to a community home and my mother to a psych hospital for the severe depression she’d sunk into since my father’s accident.

That was four years ago, and two years later, they found foster homes for us, planning to split us apart. I fought with all my might. I went to the head of the children’s home and protested. I even asked if we could stay until they found us housing together, but my pleas were ignored. Once Prim was taken from me, I had no other reason to go on. I had no hope. No family. Just a deep, dark swelling in my belly that consumed me night after night. It was like a monster had started growing inside me and was ready to bust out.

I’d already had nightmares since my father died in that horrible car crash on his way home from work. Visions of him being held prisoner in his own vehicle by a seat belt and an airbag only to be crushed by another car. Glass shattering, blood smattering onto the street, metal objects flying everywhere. That’s what the scene looked like. They didn’t want me to go. They wanted to protect me, but I had to see it to believe it.

I was only eleven, and my father was gone in a flash. He was my hero, my whole world. He’d always sung me to sleep, and now I’m haunted by his death night after night.

I did my best to protect Prim and provide a normal childhood for her. My little sister did not need the extra emotional baggage along with losing her father. My mother had gone catatonic; save for eating, drinking, and toileting, she barely existed. It was up to me to keep us going as a family, and I had been willing to do it. Until the call was made, and our lives changed even more drastically.

I had given in to daily life at the community center. Prim and I had each other, and we weren’t forced to change schools. It was only after they separated us when I was fifteen that I resorted to using the knife. I heard they had to resuscitate me and had given me eight pints of blood. The slice to my wrist hadn't saved me from my misery, so when I sunk into a whole new level of worthlessness, I took an entire bottle of pills. I figured it was less messy and less painful.

All that and I’m still alive.

Maybe the odds are not in my favor. For some reason, I keep staying alive, in spite of great effort to do just the opposite.

So as I sit chewing on my nails, waiting for Dr. Aurelius to call me into his office, I ponder the reasons why I’m still here. What on Earth could God, the universe, whoever the hell is in charge, want from me?

There’s Prim. I keep telling myself if I’m destined to stay alive, it’s for Prim. What would she do if I had succeeded? Would she end up suffering the same fate? I can’t bear the thought. I convince myself that she’s stronger than that. She _will_ survive.

And what about Peeta? Why does my mind keep wandering to the lost boy in that room?

“Miss Everdeen!” A boisterous, deep voice jars me from my thoughts. I turn to see my doctor scowling at me with a teasing smile. “I’m glad to see you’re here with the living. Come on in.”

And I do as he says, shuffling into his office behind him.

 

* * *

 

Panem Oaks is a pretty nice place, if you have to be stuck somewhere for a few weeks. The grounds are comprised of several buildings that look like older houses, each with its own purpose. I’m in the Teen Rehab Cottage. It’s much larger than you would think a cottage would be, as it has two floors and many rooms throughout. All the counseling and meeting rooms are downstairs with the kitchen and dining area.

The residence is upstairs. It’s a voluntary unit, so I could leave anytime, but since I’m not an adult, it’s up to my guardians to make that decision, and of course, they want to do “what’s best for me.” They separate the girls and the boys, but there’s a common rec room upstairs that’s open to everyone. They police it pretty closely to be sure we’re behaving. They strip us of all contraband when we enter, but I’m sure if someone’s really diligent, they’ll find a way to get something in.

I follow the path to the dining room from my shaky memory of Effie’s short tour this morning. There was so much to take in, I’m surprised I haven’t gotten lost yet. I see Madge in line, choosing her food, so I follow suit, taking a place behind a guy I haven’t seen before. He’s tall with short blonde hair. He looks like he could be a football player, with his strong, healthy build. He must feel me looking at him as he flits his eyes to mine. I offer a meek smile and look down at my empty tray.

“Hey, you must be new here. Haven’t seen you around before,” he says as his lips curve to a smirk, and he shoves his hand forward. “I’m Cato. If you want a special tour, I’ll be glad to take you around later.” His laugh sends chills through my spine. There’s something about him that’s off-putting, but I can’t place it.

“Stay away from him, Katniss. He’s trouble.” The whispered words float into my left ear as if a ghost spoke them. I turn and see Peeta looking down at his tray.

“You remember me,” I say, forgetting about Cato but feeling the first twinge of happiness I’ve had in a long time as I move a few steps forward and dish myself some soup. I watch him do the same, and I study his face, so much more mature in only four years.

He turns his head slightly, his bright blue eyes homing in on mine. I feel the need to look away under his intense gaze. “Of course I remember you. We went to school together since Kindergarten.” He moves along and takes a couple of rolls and butter, mumbling, “I just wish we didn’t have to see each other in here.”

“Not like your dad’s cheese buns, huh?” I ask, trying to lighten the mood. He actually allows himself to smile for a moment and shakes his head.

“Definitely not,” he quickly replies and adds, “The lasagna here is really good. I always try to get double.” His eyebrows lift, and his gaze guides me to it.

“Good tip. Thanks.” I bite my lip, the warm feeling in my chest spreading throughout my skin, making me feel closer to home. Not my current home, the one that I’m constantly trying to escape from, but my first home, the one where I was happy and had a future with my family.

Peeta reminds me of those times.  

I make my way towards Madge and turn to invite him to join us, but he’s already taking a seat by himself at the opposite side of the room. How strange it is to see this boy, now transitioning to being a full-fledged man, all alone when he used to be the center of attention at school. I remember seeing him at my dad’s funeral. He even brought a box of cookies from the bakery afterward with his family’s condolences.  

And now, he’s here? I take solace in the fact that he was kind enough to talk to me, but I think there’s more to discover about Peeta Mellark.

“C’mon Katniss, sit sit!” Madge implores as I must be foolishly stuck in thought. She moves closer to me and speaks in a hushed voice. “I saw Peeta talking to you. That’s a first!”

“He’s talked to me before. Remember, we went to school together.”

“No, Katniss. I’m saying that’s a first _here_. He doesn’t talk to anyone outside of group.” She dons a wide grin and continues, “Maybe you’ll be the one to bring him out of his shell.”

We both look over at the sad boy, blond waves hanging into those ocean blue eyes. The warmth I felt in my chest before is replaced with an ominous weight in my gut. I think about the road I’ve been on that led me here and can’t imagine his was any less difficult. But I can barely take care of myself day to day, let alone try to fix Peeta.

“I can be friendly, but that’s all I can do right now, Madge.” I shovel soup in my mouth, enjoying the warm, salty broth. “Don’t forget that I just got out of lock up this morning. He doesn’t need my crap.”

She places her hand on mine, and the initial sting turns to comfort as she leans in. “Katniss, you would never know this, but I was hooked on drugs, too. That’s why I’m here.”

My jaw falls slack at the news. Madge Undersee, a drug addict?

Her head nods, and she grabs my hand with both of hers as she tells me the tale of a girl who was pressured to be the best at everything and how knowing the right people at school hooked her up to a bevy of drugs. Her favorite was cocaine. The coke allowed her to get a lot done on little sleep. It was expensive, but a few clever lies to her parents about extracurricular activities and essential school supplies made the money easy to obtain.

“It all blew up in my face when a narc came to school. She became friends with all of us and gained our trust, then she set up a transaction, and cops were there to bust us.” Her eyes take on a glossy sheen as she continues, “Katniss, it was so humiliating. I was treated like a common criminal!”

“Is that how you ended up here? Was it part of your sentence?”

“Yeah,” she mutters as she pushes her food around the plate with her fork. “But it’s not so bad. It was a wake-up call for my parents, too.” She looks out the window, her mind appearing to be somewhere else. “I think they finally realized how hard they’d been on me, you know? How much they were pushing me. Not sure what will happen when I’m home next week.”

“How are you going to make it... out there?” I ask, motioning out the window as if an alien world awaits her.

She places her hands on her lap and inhales deeply. With resolution she affirms, “All I can say is that I’ve been clean for 23 days, and I intend to stay that way.” Her smile falters, and tears threaten to burst as she fiddles with her fingers. “I don’t know if I can do it, Katniss.” She looks up to me, as if I’m her salvation. “Do you think I will? I have my whole future to build now.”

I do the only thing fitting by brightening my expression and saying all the reassuring words she needs to hear. “You can call me whenever you need someone, okay?” Not entirely certain of what I’m committing myself to, I continue, “Do you have a sponsor or someone like that, you know, to help you when things get tough?”

“Yes, I do. They connected me with someone from NA. You know, Narcotics Anonymous, so I’ll be looked after.” Her confidence from before is dwindling as she speaks, but I make a vow to myself to stay strong for her.

“You know what I think, Katniss?”

I shake my head, waiting.

“I think you might be just what we all need here.”

“How is that possible?” I ask with all sincerity.

“Stop scowling. I’m serious. I really think this is my lucky day, finding you again after all this time. You help me remember the Madge I used to be. Before the pressure, before the deadlines and extracurricular work. When we were just kids, you know?”

And I do know. That’s exactly how I felt when I saw Peeta earlier. If we could only go back.

* * *

 

The oak trees stand tall around the grounds of Panem Oaks. The garden is just off the rear entrance of our cottage, but we’re allowed to walk through the grounds at free time. So as soon as the clock strikes 3:00, I make my move outdoors. Exhausted from constantly talking about my problems and being privy to everyone else’s puts me in a sullen mood. I go to the most isolated area where a large oak beckons me to climb it. I’m able to easily scale the trunk and settle nicely into a perfectly curved, thick branch.

To me, this is relaxation. I’m hidden from the sun by the leaves overhead and camouflaged enough that I’ll be left alone for the hour. I close my eyes and open my ears to nature. The birds singing their songs, the breeze tickling the branches, the occasional chattering of a squirrel.

Here, I can exist.

A new noise grabs my attention, a heavy human tread crunching dried leaves on the grass below. I quietly stretch and look down to see Peeta taking a seat at the base of the tree. I don’t think he knows I’m above him, and if he does, he doesn’t show it. I watch as he leans his head back onto the trunk, extending his legs out in front of him and crossing one over the other. He looks side to side as if he’s checking around for onlookers, then pulls an apple from his pack.

He takes a bite, and I can hear the crispness of the fruit as he grasps the flesh between his teeth. He sighs as he chews as if it’s the best thing he’s eaten all day. I find my mouth watering just watching him. Feeling like such a voyeur, I try to shake him off and go back to my silence. It’s comforting knowing he’s there below me and that it’s possible to be together in this strange way.

As much as I try not to, I doze off for a few minutes. My sixth sense knows when I’m going too deep and brings me back to wakefulness. I’m distracted by an unfamiliar scratching below, so I peer down to see what’s making the noise. It’s Peeta’s hand working deftly with a pencil, sketching something onto a pad of paper. I can’t make out what he’s drawing specifically, but his fingers move quickly as the graphite slides along the white background. I can tell by the intensity of his profile and the way his jaw clenches and releases that he’s deep in thought.

What I would give to find out what’s going on in his mind. It’s like a whole other world in there as he draws.

I change positions as quietly as possible, my bottom and legs feeling like pins and needles from sitting so long, but I’m not quiet enough as Peeta closes his pad and jerks his head upward to stare directly at me.

“Do you like spying on people as they work, Katniss?”

“I was in the tree first. And I didn’t want to disturb you,” I say defensively.

“Why don’t you just come down, then?” His hand hovers over his eyes to block the sun as he looks up at me. “Do you need help?”

I scoff, “No. I’m perfectly capable of getting down myself.” I climb down branch by branch, but as soon as I place my foot into the final fork of the tree, it slips, sending my body sliding down the length of the tree trunk. But before I reach the ground, I feel a strong grip on my thighs, controlling my descent and bringing me down safely. I huff out a strangled breath of air. “Thank you. Shit, that was a little scary.”

“I’m perfectly capable of getting down myself, she says,” he mimics in a high voice. And I think for the first time ever, I witness Peeta Mellark laughing. At my expense. Now I feel like a fool.

“I usually am... I was probably still a little numb from sitting in the same place for so long,” I mutter in my defense, chewing on my nails and staring at my feet.

His hand cradles my jaw, and his coarse thumb delicately strokes my cheek, angling my head up to look him in the eyes. “I’m sorry for mocking you. I shouldn’t have done that.”

He gives me a smile that’s so genuinely sweet, with just the right touch of shyness, that an unexpected warmth rushes through me. But I become immediately self-conscious, never having been this close to a boy before. And my first instinct is to run. Run to my room, to the safety of the four walls, but something inside tells me to stay.

I take a seat where he’d been drawing. “Can I see what you’re working on?”

“Uhh... they’re kind of personal. I don’t know if you’ll even understand what they are.”

“If you don’t want to, that’s okay. I understand,” I offer, trying desperately to change the awkwardness of the conversation. “Wanna sit?” I say, patting the grass next to me.

“Sure,” he says, brushing the hair from his eyes. “So, what made you come sit in my favorite tree?”

“Your favorite?” I counter. “How am I supposed to know that? I just arrived today.”

I can see he’s pondering the coincidence, and something lights a spark in his expression. “Do you remember that one time after choir when you climbed up the apple tree in my backyard?”

I do remember. “Yes, and you came out and snuck me some cheese buns to take home because—”

“Because they were your favorite,” he finishes for me. “My mom was so pissed off when she found out we had to make a new batch, and I couldn’t account for the ones that went missing.” He rubs at his brow and frowns. “It was worth it, though. Just to see the look of surprise on your face before you went home.”

“I loved sitting in that tree. It had the best branches to perch with the birds and listen to the wind. Plus, smell all the good things coming from the bakery.”

“Yeah, I liked it, too. I mean, uh, when you sat there.” He stares off pensively. “This oak reminds me a little of that tree. It’s a lot bigger, but it has the same feel to it.”

“Have you done any drawings of the tree?” I ask, wondering if he’ll finally show me his pictures.

“No, not yet. I usually draw my dreams—well nightmares, really.” He opens his pad of paper, and I see pencil drawings that I cannot decipher. Mostly blurry, shadowed faces of demons and monsters surrounded by fire and smoke. “I told you it would be hard to understand.”

My fingers run along the elongated screaming mouth of a tortured soul. “Is this what you dream about?”

He shakes his head. “Yeah, every night.” An ironic laugh escapes his lips. “And people wonder why I can’t sleep.”

“I can’t sleep either,” I bounce back. “But my nightmares are about losing my father. I always see his crash and feel his pain. I don’t know how to forget.” I page through some of his drawings. “How can you forget when you’re reliving your dreams during the light of day?”

His sincere gaze calls me to attention. “I don’t want to forget. Dr. Aurelius suggested that instead of using my hands as weapons to hurt others, I could use my pencils and paintbrushes as my weapons. I can draw and paint to fight back. If I control my demons, then they can’t hurt me anymore.”

“Does it help? Are the nightmares gone?”

“Not yet, but I’ve been less violent. I have an outlet that I didn’t have before, and that’s a start, I guess.” He jumps up to his feet, gathers his things, then reaches his hand out to me. “I better get to group. Don’t want to be the one that’s late.”

I take his hand, noticing how warm and solid it feels in my grasp. “No, mustn’t be late to group,” I say, doing my best impression of our coordinator, Effie. We laugh and walk together, and it’s not until we reach the building that I realize my hand is still clutching his.

* * *

 

“People are going to start talking,” Peeta mumbles under his breath as he sketches in his notebook.

I roll to my side to face him. “Talking about what?” I prop my head up with my hand and gaze at him so engaged in his work.

His blue eyes dart to mine, then quickly back down to the page. “Us... why we’re out here everyday together.”

“We’re friends, and I’ve only been here four days,” I shoot back. “Plus, I see other people hanging out together, and no one cares about them.”

A smirk pulls on his lips, but he keeps his eyes focused on his tablet. “Just want you to be prepared if anybody makes remarks. I don’t personally give a shit what people think.” He looks back up and smiles gently. “I don’t want anyone to hurt you. Okay?”

I bite my lip to hold back my grin. “Okay,” I acquiesce. “I’ll spend some time with Madge, too. She’s leaving on Sunday, and I think she’s keeping up a strong front. She’d probably appreciate some extra support.”

“Yeah,” he agrees. “I hope she holds it together for her party tomorrow night. Haymitch usually suggests we write a personal message to share with the graduates before they leave. Something they can take with them to keep them strong.”

“Who knew he could be such a softy,” I chuckle lightly and lay my head down to rest on my extended arm, my fingers raking through the grass as Peeta’s hand continues to scribble.

The sun trickles through the leaves of our oak so that shadows cast across his face. I never realized how the sun picks up those golden strands that weave throughout his hair. Or how his eyelashes mingle so closely together, he may need a comb to tame them. His jaw clenches, and his hand works furiously on some image he’s capturing on paper. His expression is different today, though. Instead of the haunted look behind his eyes, I see a flicker of hope.

“Katniss,” his voice pulls me out of my daze. “Let me see your arm again.” He reaches out, and I sit up to show him my left arm.

His fingers run along my arrow tattoo and then up the adjacent scar inside my wrist. “Hmm... shoot straight. I love that.”

“Just a reminder, you know. When I’d thought I would never see my sister again, I couldn’t bear the sadness and just wanted to end it all. So after, as the scar healed, I decided to brand myself with a reminder to keep my priorities straight. To stay alive for my sister.”

Peeta releases my wrist and goes back to sketching, humming in acknowledgment of my words. “So what set you over the edge? What made you take the bottle of pills when you wanted to stay alive for Prim?”

I roll onto my back and cross my arms over my eyes, the sun seeming way too bright all of a sudden. “It was a combination of so many things. I felt disconnected from Prim, only seeing her twice a month. She’s getting older and has family and friends she sees everyday, so I feel like I’m just an obligation now. And I’d just visited my mom. She’s unbelievable. She had the nerve to insinuate it was my fault that we were in our current living situation, that I had some direct effect on us being split apart.”

He looks up from his work, his brow furrowing, anger brewing behind his clear blue eyes. “You should never be blamed for that! There are so many things out of our control and for parents to expect their children to hold the blame? That’s fucking cowardice.”

“I know, but I still felt like a failure. And then when I talked to my case worker, she said I might not even be eligible to adopt Prim right away because of my psychiatric history. It was looking so bleak, I lost control.” I fight back the tears, not wanting to ruin any of this time by crying and feeling sorry for myself.

Peeta looks down to his sketchpad again. “I’m so sorry you and Prim were separated. I know how close you two were, and I’m sure she still cares about you. Even if you can’t be together right away, now you have an opportunity to remind her how strong and smart you are,” he says with determination.

“Thanks, we were victims of circumstance. Or at least, that’s what people like to say.”

Peeta rubs the scar on his brow and nods. “Yeah, I guess we’re all victims of circumstance in one way or another.” He tosses his pencil to the ground and turns the page over to me. “What do you think?” he asks, waiting patiently as I examine his drawing.

“Peeta! Is that me?” I sit up onto my knees and take in all the detail, from the wisps of hair that have fallen from my braid, to the bit of freckles I have on my nose, to the tattoo on my wrist. “Am I now part of your monster and demon collection?” I joke, hoping he won’t take any offense.

He laughs, the sound sending a shiver through me that I haven’t felt before. “You’re a new kind of demon. I have to be very careful around you.”

And I’m not sure what makes me do it, but I lean forward and kiss him softly, my fingers caressing his cheek as our lips release. “Thank you,” I whisper. “I like your version of me.”

 

* * *

 

After finishing my house chore of the day—cleaning up the dishes from dinner—I head up to the rec room to relax before bed. Besides the exhaustion of getting little sleep and being forced to constantly analyze my emotions, I’ve been exposed to everyone else’s problems, too. I felt the physical and mental drain well before dinner.

But I made a promise that I would spend more time with Madge before she leaves this weekend, so I seek her out and find her sunk into the old orange couch watching Finnick and Thresh slinging trash talk at each other as they play Xbox.

“Hey, Madge.” I offer a sincere smile. “May I join you?”

She sits up and pats the cushion next to her. “Yes, yes. Sit, sit.”

Thresh, usually a man of few words, has finally found his match at _Mark of the Ninja_ and is not taking it lightly. He towers over Finnick by at least a foot and is that much wider as well. I remember thinking that he looked like a linebacker on my first day of group. Thresh, using his size to intimidate Finnick, nudges him inch by inch every time Finnick moves up a level.

“Are we placing any bets?” I ask, motioning over to the guys during their heated video game. “I know Finn is new here, but he does have some great moves.”

“I hear you back there, Katniss. And don’t think I’m taking your compliment lightly,” he quips as he continues playing. “I’ve been waiting for you to acknowledge my moves.”

I can’t deny that Finnick is very attractive. Typical tanned surfer boy with bronze hair cut short at the sides and captivating sea-green eyes; I’m sure he was very popular with the girls in his previous life. Not sure how someone like Finn got stuck in Panem, but he seems to fit in with the guys here pretty well for a newbie.

“Boom! You’re dead, Thresh! Pay up, dude.” He opens his hand to collect his payment—sugar cubes. He pops one in his mouth, tossing it around with his tongue. “Ah, sweets for the sweet... victory, that is.” His laugh echoes around the room as he jumps to his feet. “Gonna turn in. Here, honey.” He winks and tosses me one. “Sweet dreams.”

I watch him saunter off as I place the treat on my tongue. It melts slowly, my mouth filling with sugary syrup. Madge and I both arch our brows, staring at each other quizzically when suspicious noises make their way from the alcove behind the couch. I place my finger over my lips and tread silently over to the cubby where all the books are kept. They call it the library, but most of the residents know that’s where people go to fool around.

This time, it’s Johanna and Cato, and I immediately cringe at the vision of those two together, lips locked and hands grabbing, huffs and pants coming from both of them. My stomach turns on itself. I creep back around, not disturbing the couple, and whisper to Madge.

She giggles when she hears who it is and pounds with her fist on the wall. “Hey Jo, did you forget your Lithium today?” She beams at me, apparently not afraid of her ass being kicked my Johanna Mason. “You don’t need to be desperate, girl. There are others who actually have a heart, ripe for your picking.” Madge cackles as she continues to throw insults their way.

“Madge, I think I’ll go to bed. Last thing I need is to be on Johanna’s shit list.”

“Okay, you’re right. I’m leaving, and you’re stuck here for another three weeks. Don’t want to make your life miserable.” She steps along with me as we head out the door.

“Just need to stop for my pills,” I say as I approach the med room. I show the pharmacy tech my wrist, and once she confirms my name and patient number, she gives me the little paper cup with pills to help me sleep and “stabilize my mood.” The tech watches me swallow. I open my mouth and reveal my empty cup. She nods, and I move on.  

Madge does the same before we walk up the stairs to our rooms.

The rooms are purposely left unlocked for fear of staff being unable to help in an emergency. The bathrooms are at opposite ends of the hall. The boys’ down at their end and our girls’ bathroom and showers at our end. I take my toiletries bag, with all contraband previously removed, down to brush my teeth and wash my face.

Before I reach my room, I knock on Madge’s door and peek in to say goodnight. Every step I take toward my room gives me more and more anxiety. Will I be able to sleep tonight? Will the nightmares ever stop?

I turn off the light and lie down, trying to think of good things like Finnick’s sugar cube, Peeta’s hands, his drawing of me lying in the grass, and eating cheese buns in his apple tree. I drift off, happier thoughts flooding my mind. 

But it’s not long before I’m gasping for air; the barreling truck, the blinding lights, the blood... all that blood. My body seeks air that it can’t acquire, and the suffocating weight of dread forces me into the mattress, not allowing me to escape. I sob through my helplessness, wishing someone could save me from this misery.

I sob for my father. I sob for my mother. I ache for my sister to come back to me. And then I hear myself breathing, gasping, sweating. Finally awake.

The pills never help. I ignorantly hope they’ll knock me out so I can’t dream at all, but instead they make it harder for me to wake from the nightmares, from the torture I endure every night.

I need to get out of this room, so I put on my robe and walk to the bathroom to splash my face. My hair is down from the braid I usually wear during the day, but it’s sticking to my neck, so I knot it up into a relaxed bun as I make my way back down the hall. I pass my room and continue on. I’ve never been down to the boys area, and I’ve been curious if it’s any different from our side. I follow a turn to the right, figuring I’ll walk down to the end and then back to my bed, but the screaming stops me in my tracks.

I shuffle to the room, guided by the tormented sounds, and press my ear to the door. I knock, but there’s no answer, so I crack open the door and whisper loudly, “It’s Katniss. Are you okay?” The screaming has stopped, but I’m drawn by a familiar sound of rapid, shallow breathing and panting. As I cautiously approach the bed, I try to focus by using the only light that’s coming from the clock on the nightstand.

It’s Peeta. His eyes are wide open, but he doesn’t see me. His body is stiff, and he’s gasping for air. I sit next to him on the bed and try to rouse him without making him upset.

“Peeta, wake up. You’re having a nightmare. It’s only a dream,” I say as my hands push at his side to rock him awake. He remains still, but his eyes close. His features have relaxed, so I brush a stray lock of hair from his brow. I rest my head on his trunk and feel the easiness of his chest movements. His breathing is back to normal, so I get comfortable and wait.

I wonder what kind of monster invaded his dreams tonight. What kinds of things his mind experiences when he’s asleep. Something about that screaming tells me I don’t want to know what Peeta’s dreams are about. But there’s something calming about being here, listening to him sleep. I fight my heavy lids, but I eventually succumb to sleep, resting at his side.

“Katniss! What are you doing here? You shouldn’t be in here!” Peeta’s alarmed voice pulls me out of the best sleep I’ve had in years. I tremor a bit as I awaken, noting that it’s still dark outside, and the clock reads _4:00 AM_. He scoots up to plant his back against the wall as I stretch and sit up to face him.

“I was walking down the hall, and I heard screaming. I just wanted to help.” I nervously bite my nails, realizing I’m only wearing my robe and my t-shirt. “I must have fallen asleep once you calmed down.”

Peeta looks perplexed but not upset. “I actually feel like I had some decent sleep, so you probably did help me. Thank you,” he assures me with a sheepish grin. He runs a hand through his hair and glances at the time. “We need to be up in a few hours. You should probably get back to your room before anyone catches us.”

“I’d like to stay here for a little while, if you don’t mind.”

He bites his lip and nods, “Okay, just for a bit. But c’mere.” He opens his arm for me to burrow in and rest my head against his chest. The beat of his heart is soothing, and his warmth and steadiness fills me in a way I’ve never experienced before.

I take his other hand and inspect all the scars, calluses, and fine lines on it. My eyes move up his arm, noting his tattoos, mostly wide rings around his wrists like a bracelet and his upper arm like a cuff.

“What’s the story behind these?’

“I thought they looked kind of cool when I saw another guy with similar ink, but I feel like they represent shackles, keeping me bound from living. They represent my struggle to be free.”

“Free from what? Life?”

Peeta snickers. “Figures you’d think that. No, I want to live. I just want all this shit in my head to disappear, you know?” He pulls me in closer to his side and presses his lips against my hair. “I want to be free of all these voices in my head telling me I’m a failure, that I’m no good, that I deserve to be beaten and treated like a fucking animal. I’m sick of all this shit.”

I caress his arm, feeling his tears trickling down my cheek. “Peeta,” I say softly, “I’m sorry. I had no idea all that you’ve been—if it makes any difference, you’re the one person who has made my stay here tolerable. Like, when I’m with you, I want to live, too.”

“Thanks, Katniss. That does help,” he replies, the gentleness in his voice returning.

My eyes wander up past the tattoos on his arm and zero in on a scar that looks like a heart with a _C_ in the center. I trace it with my finger wondering who or what “C” stands for.

“That’s from my ex, Clove,” he offers freely. “She, uh, had a thing for knives. We etched stuff on each other from time to time. This one was pretty deep, so I get to keep it as a souvenir.”

The thought of Peeta with another girl ties my stomach in knots. Maybe it’s because she carved into him, and he has to live with that mark now. Or maybe it’s because he’s lived a whole life before this whereas I’ve been consumed with thoughts of _taking_ my life.

Either way, my discomfort tells me it’s time to leave. “I better get back to my room. Thanks for not getting mad at me for busting in.”

“I don’t think I could ever get mad at you, Katniss. And thanks for busting in. I’m glad you did.”

I tie my robe and kiss him lightly on the forehead. “Get some sleep,” I say before I slip out the door into the hall.

 

* * *

 

“You have to dress up for my party, Katniss,” Madge implores as she applies her pink lipstick. She rubs her lips together and smacks them for effect. “I know Mrs. Cray came to see you earlier today. Did she bring you any clothes from home?”

Mrs. Cray did visit me, and as much as she has been an adequate foster mother, she doesn’t see any reason for young girls to wear makeup or trendy clothes. So when I’d asked her to bring me something nice to wear to Madge’s graduation party, it wasn’t a surprise that she packed the two dresses I usually wear to church.

“Yes, she brought my Sunday dresses. I’m going to look like an idiot in either of those, so I’m just going to wear my jeans with a blouse.”

She takes out the dark green dress with long sleeves and holds it in front of her. “Wow, Katniss. I feel like I’ve been transported back a few decades. It’s beautiful, though.” I roll my eyes, yet she’s not wrong. They do look like dresses from another century, but Mrs. Cray is conservative and a little older, so she thinks they’re perfect for a girl to wear to a party.

“What about the other one? Don’t you think it’s too much?” I ask as Madge lays the green dress on my bed then feels the fabric of my orange one.

She stares at the two side by side. “I really think you should wear a dress tonight. It will make it feel more festive. Both colors would be stunning on you, but I think the peach one is perfect for tonight. It’s soft enough and sleeveless, so it would be much more comfortable since it’s still a little warm in the evening.”

“Peach?”

“Yeah, peach. What would you call it?” she volleys back with a curious smile.

I shrug. “Orange.”

“Oh, Katniss,” she says, obviously trying to avoid being condescending but failing miserably. “I love how your mind works. This is not just orange. This is a soft tone, more like a cantaloupe than a peach actually.”

“Well, at least I should be happy to know I’ll look like some kind of fruit tonight,” I mumble under my breath.

“I heard that. And you will look gorgeous. Let’s get you ready!”

I have to say that Madge is pretty good at making me look more like a girl. With my pink lip gloss and mascara, I actually think I might be pretty. We walk arm in arm downstairs to the large group room. She looks beautiful wearing a short pink shirt and a white blouse that resembles a camisole. Her blonde hair falls over her shoulders in waves. I still can’t believe that a girl like her could get into trouble with addiction, but it reminds me that we’re all suffering in our own ways.

“Ah, there’s our graduate,” says an unusually pleasant Haymitch. He wraps his arm around her in a side hug and nods to me. “Katniss, you look fancy.”

I peer down and flatten the full skirt with my hands. “Thanks,” I mumble, staring at my feet.

“Haymitch, it was so sweet of you and Effie to plan this party. I’m going to take Katniss around to mingle. C’mon, let’s go.” Madge pulls me with her as she greets everyone. I feel each person’s scrutinizing eyes on me as we make our rounds.

“Madge, I really should go change. All the staring is making me uncomfortable. I look like a fool.”

“You do not look like a fool, Katniss Everdeen. People are staring because you look beautiful. They’re probably admiring how easily you transform from tomboy to prom queen. Stop worrying, and enjoy some attention.”

The last thing I want is attention, but I feel the need to please Madge tonight, so I will keep this stupid dress on and pretend I’m enjoying it... for her. I scan the room and my eyes dwell a little longer than I wish to admit on Peeta. He’s chatting with Thresh, using his hands as he talks. He waves them around in some exaggerated manner, and Thresh laughs in response. I can’t help but grin as I watch them interact.

I jerk my head to Madge’s conversation when Peeta looks in my direction. I realize he must have caught me watching when he approaches.

“Hey, Katniss. You look so pretty,” he says, his blue eyes shimmering from the reflected light. He grasps a bit of the skirt. “Did you know this is my favorite color?”

“No, I didn’t. Cantaloupe-peach is your favorite?” I tease, smirking at Madge.

“Well, I was gonna say soft orange, but cantaloupe works.” Peeta looks between the two of us, probably confused by our inside joke. “Anyway, you ladies put the rest of us to shame.” He looks down at his t-shirt and jeans.

“You’re wearing a leather jacket. You get points for that.”

“Katniss, would you and Peeta please bring me some cake and punch?” asks Madge, who’s being every bit of the guest of honor talking with everyone in the room.

Peeta and I head over to the cake table, and I realize my belly is rumbling, too. I reach out for a plate when I feel a hand grip my wrist. I follow the arm up to its owner and see Cato’s lascivious grin.

“Can’t have a girl as sexy as you’re looking tonight waiting on herself.”

“I’m perfectly capable of taking care of myself, Cato,” I say firmly, but he doesn’t let go of my wrist. I pull my arm with a yank, and he releases me, sending the cake flying all over the table.

He laughs wickedly and quips, “Yeah, Katniss, you have _everything_ under control, don’t you?”

“Fuck off, Cato,” I yell to his back as he saunters away.

Peeta’s nostrils flare, and his eyes shoot daggers Cato’s way. “He better be fucking thankful that he let go of you.” He refocuses on me and asks if I’m alright. I nod as we both pick up the mess.

Once we have the cake and punch, we bring it over to Madge who heartily inhales it. There is an active buzz in the room as everyone socializes, acting like this is a typical party despite all of our dysfunctions, addictions, and diagnoses. It’s such a great mirage of normalcy, I almost dive in to take a drink, until Haymitch clinks on his glass.

“Attention everyone! I’m glad you all are having a great time. Thank you, Effie, for your team’s hard work at putting this shindig together for Madge. Lord knows she’s earned it, haven’t you sweetheart?”

Madge stands silently against the wall, nodding and smiling meekly, which is unusual for her larger-than-life self. She steps forward and gives a quick summary of what brought her to Panem Oaks and the path she’s taken to get to where she is now. Then Haymitch asks all of us to say a few words to her so she may have strength to continue all the work she’s done up to this point.

Everyone gets pretty emotional talking about Madge because she really is a beam of light here at rehab. When Haymitch looks in my direction, I really don’t know what to say. I stammer a bit, then Peeta leans toward me and whispers in my ear, “Remember, you went to school together.”

And immediately, I know what to say. “Madge and I went to school together when we were younger. I was so happy to see a familiar face here at P.O. when I had just gotten released from my 48-hour hold. But then I was sad… sad to see that other people I knew from childhood had been suffering just as much as I had. So when she befriended me and shared her story with me, I knew she had the strength to fight this. She still isn’t sure if she’ll make it out there, but I know she can do it.”

Madge’s smile is betrayed by a single tear leaking from her right eye, but I have to continue.

“Madge, you can do it. You're strong. You’re full of energy and drive. And if anyone can stay drug-free, it’s you. You can do it!” And before I do something stupid like cry in front of everyone, I rush out of the room, around to the back door through the kitchen, and suck in a deep breath of fresh air.

Hot tears run down my cheeks recklessly, and without any effort to gain composure, I lean back against the outside of the cottage and sob. I hear a scuffle next to the trash dumpster and jump with a start when I see a huge gray rat scurrying on the ground. I blow out a huge breath when I see that’s all it was. And when I hear a sound coming from the other direction, I don’t bother to check it out, figuring it’s just another flea-bitten rodent.

But when a strong force spins my body around, and I’m pressed against the cottage, I realize the sound did not come from a rat but from a human. And that human has his hand smothering my mouth and is pinning my chest to the wall. My body shakes uncontrollably as his warm breath pounds into my ear.

“So you think you can just tell me to fuck off?”

It’s Cato. I try to slow down my breathing so I don’t hyperventilate. I can get out of this if I think smart. I feel how his body is holding me. My legs are between his. Maybe I can kick up my leg and get him in the balls. I try to move my right leg, but he changes position quickly, trapping my ankles with his from the inside.

He grunts with his quick movement. “Oh, you’re gonna get feisty on me now, are you?”

I mumble against his palm, but he can’t understand anything I’m trying to say. I try to open my mouth so my teeth can find purchase on his fingers. As his hand roams down my shoulder to my arm and then to my waist, I grab a tiny bit of skin and nip as tightly as I can, but he pushes me harder into the wall.

“Katniss, this is going to happen one way or another so I recommend the easy way,” he growls harshly as his lips brush my earlobe, my stomach turning at the sensation. His free hand moves from my waist and travels between my legs. The tremors return as his fingers glide slowly up my inner thigh. I wiggle myself away from his searing touch, but he laughs. “Yeah, look at you. No patience whatsoever. I’ll get there soon enough.”

He runs his lips along my arm, then bites my shoulder, the yelp I make completely muted by his sweaty hand. And when his finger starts dipping below the lace trim of my underwear, and his finger traces the crease in my ass, that’s when I know I can’t escape. That’s when it’s all over, and I know he’s won. And as he whispers to me how beautiful I am, how much he knew I was playing hard to get, and how I was trying to make him jealous hanging out with that “loser Peeta,” I brace myself for his attack, all my fight gone. But when the pressure of his fingers skims around to the front of my body, searching, exploring, and the foreign touch on my most private parts invades my very being, that’s when I know I must do something.

Using all my force, I wiggle away from his prying digits and scream the loudest muffled scream I can into his hand. I push back and forth with my body. Why make it easy for him?

He cackles the most despicable sound, “Whoo, what a vixen you are, Katniss. I have my work cut out for me tonight.”

“The hell you do!”

And as quickly as those words fly around the corner, I stumble backward as Cato’s body is ripped from me and forced to the ground. Peeta sits on him, holding Cato’s treacherous arm in a lock behind his back while jamming his cheek in the dirt with his other hand.

“You are so fucking lucky I don’t have my knife.” Peeta’s brutal words strike Cato’s ear. “I would take delight in slicing each one of these fingers off your hand!”

“Fuck you, Mellark. This is none of your business,” Cato manages to get out. “Katniss and I were having some fun, that’s all.” It’s all I can do not to scream at him with all my might, but as soon as he says it, Peeta grabs the hair on Cato’s head, lifts it, then smacks his face back to the ground. “Goddammit!”

“Peeta, don’t add attempted murder to your record. Not for me,” I beseech him. “You helped me already. You stopped him.”

Peeta’s face reddens as the rage burns through him. “I’m not letting this asshole go until he speaks the truth. He knows what he did to you, and he knows what he needs to do.” Peeta holds Cato’s head up by the hair again. “Want another?” Peeta taunts.

Cato shakes his head vigorously under Peeta’s grip. I notice his face is bleeding as he pleads for him to stop. “Fuck, man. Okay, I was messing with Katniss. She knew I didn’t mean it.”

“I swear to God, Cato. If you don’t fucking admit what you did and apologize, I’m beating your face to a pulp.”

So after a couple minutes more of threatening and beating, Cato finally offers a sincere apology to me and per Peeta’s instructions, says he will never touch me again. Finally, Peeta turns to me, his face still flushed from exertion. “Katniss, would you please find Haymitch and send him out here?”

I quickly run inside to find Haymitch, not wanting Peeta to be out there alone with Cato too long. When I finally find him and drag him outside, Cato remains lying on the ground, moaning in pain from his injuries as Peeta stands over him, holding his hand out. He glares at Cato but offers help up.

Peeta is the first to speak, “Why don’t you tell Haymitch what happened.”

“I tripped on something, and I went down like a log. I fell flat on my face, but luckily Katniss and Peeta were out here to help me.”

“Fell down?” I ask incredulously, reliving the unbidden feeling of Cato’s paws all over me, the bite of his teeth on my skin, and the penetration of my core. He’s not going to lie his way out of this.

My mouth falls slack as Peeta plays along with the story. Haymitch listens patiently, looking at us with a glint of suspicion. But then he nods his head and tells us all to go back inside and get ready for lights-out. He pulls Cato with him, telling him he’ll help him clean up.

We trudge up the stairs, the invasion of my body fully present in my mind. I quickly wash up in the bathroom, examining the mark on my shoulder from my attacker’s teeth and start crying. I feel like I’m back to square one. This shouldn’t have happened, and why is Peeta not telling Haymitch the truth? To protect himself? He was defending me; that should count for something. I splash my face with cold water to wash away my tears before scurrying back to my room for the night.

I prop the chair against the door so if anyone tries to come in, I’ll hear it. A gentle knock sounds as I’m putting on my nightgown, and when I crack the door, I see Peeta, all disheveled, an apologetic expression gracing his rough features.

“I can’t talk to you right now, Peeta,” I say curtly and start to close the door.

His hand jams into the space to stop me from closing it. He whispers coarsely, “Katniss, please understand. I can’t say anything to Haymitch. They’ll put the whole thing under review, and I could be sent away. Then I won’t be here to protect you.”

I chew my nails and wrap my other arm instinctively around my waist, reliving tonight’s events in my mind. If it wasn’t for Peeta, who knows if anyone would have heard me and how far Cato would have gone. But what about Cato? He won’t have to pay for what he’s done? Some other girl might fall victim to him.

“Peeta, thank you for helping me tonight, but I just... I need to go to bed.” I see the despair in his eyes, but I can’t handle his emotions right now.

I close the door, push the chair back in position, and tuck myself in, hoping my soft blankets and the walls around me offer some protection through the night.

 

* * *

 

The fire is new. It’s always the accident, the broken glass, the blood spatter, and my dad’s car crushed by the truck. But this time when I walk up to the scene, the car is ablaze, fueled by the gasoline leaking on the street. The truck explodes, and the flame catches on the ground, traveling right to my feet. I look down at the flickering heat, and without any emotion, I watch as the flames engulf my body.

I am a living inferno, filled with fury, the fire burning through my blood and flashing through my skin. What I once was, I am not anymore. My tears dry up as soon as they’re shed. My cries are muffled by smoke from my internal conflagration.

The heat, the crackling, the vision before me torments my mind to no end. My innocence is gone, if there was any left after my miserable existence thus far. And not only do I have to bear witness to my father’s demise but also to that of my own soul.

The blaze and I have become one, the heat does not hurt me any longer. The smoke is not suffocating. And as I awaken from my nightmare, I realize I’m not screaming. I’m not fraught with terror. It’s unnerving, this unfeeling, this numbness.

I climb out of my bed and reach deep within my duffel bag for my special pouch. It’s the one that holds my pads and tampons, so most people stay out of there. I open up the green plastic wrapper for one of my pads and unfold it, finding exactly what I’m looking for.

I pull up my nightgown and run the sharp edge of my razor against the skin of my thigh. I lean my head back on the wall and sigh in relief. I cut again in my usual pattern, each slice giving me the release I need. The numbness goes away, and I’m reminded that I am here, in my room, alive.

 

* * *

 

I awaken to a loud rapping on my door, and the familiar voice of Madge calling me out. My nightgown is stained with blood, and I immediately think I started my period until I see the razor on the floor next to me and remember what I’d done. I call out to Madge and tell her I’m not feeling well, but her attempts to open the door against the chair cause me to bolt up and peek through the crack.

“Come out, Katniss. Let’s have breakfast before group,” she says, knitting her brows. “Why is there a chair blocking the door?”

“I was, uh, having nightmares. I must have done that in my sleep,” I lie. “I need to brush my teeth and wash up a bit. Can I meet you downstairs?”

“Sure, I’ll see you down there.”

I wipe off my razor and tuck it back into its hiding place, then I inspect my legs. The bleeding has stopped, but the cuts look fresh. I head down to the bathroom so I can get ready quickly, avoiding interruption before I have a chance to put on my jeans. My skin stings as it rubs against the tough denim. The pain is tangible and real. I much prefer it that way.

I greet Madge in the dining room after I pile my plate full of food. I’m famished this morning in spite of everything that happened last night. I shovel the eggs, potatoes, and sausage in my mouth so quickly that I don’t even speak. Madge does all the talking, citing all her favorite things from her party.

“Why did you take off like that, Katniss? I missed you for the rest of the night.”

I glance up into her serious eyes, swallowing the food that’s stuck in my throat. I’m really not good at talking about my feelings. “I was getting a little emotional and thought I should take a break. But I hope you didn’t take any offense by it.”

She reaches out and pats my hand, smiling thoughtfully. “No, I don’t take any offense. In fact, I’m kind of flattered that you got emotional over my leaving. Thank you. It means so much to know that you care.” Her eyes start to well up, and I feel the need to stop the waterworks immediately.

“I swear if you cry, I’ll kill you here and now,” I say with a jovial smirk, pointing my fork in her direction.

She laughs in response and dabs her napkin on the corners of her eyes. “Okay, okay, no need to get violent. I want to show up at home in one piece!”

“What am I going to do without you around here anymore?” I ask Madge.

“You’ll find new friends, but you’ll still have me,” she stands to clean up her breakfast tray, and I follow right behind. “I’ll write to you, and you can call me whenever you’re able. I won’t forget you when I leave.”

Hearing those words from Madge gives me a tiny bit of peace that I might be okay... and she might be okay, too. We enter the group room to find only a few people sitting. I’ve been told that weekends are quieter around the cottage. Most kids go home on approved leave, but some stick around. We only have two groups, so it’s mostly free time, which I’m sure can become boring very quickly.

I still myself, praying to whoever is up there listening that Cato went home this weekend. Johanna is the only one that comes into the group room after us, so I’m relieved that I won’t be on edge the entire time. Once Haymitch starts in on his opening discussion, Peeta shuffles in and takes a seat closest to the door. He looks miserable; he’s sullen with dark circles under his eyes, probably from lack of sleep. I observe him from my peripheral vision or when I think he won’t notice. But he never looks over at me. He stares down at his paper, his pen circling around and around in indistinct patterns the entire time we’re in group.

He jolts out of his chair once we’re done, and I excuse myself from Madge to catch up with him. He’s walking outside, so I quicken my pace.

“Peeta, wait up,” I say, but he continues on toward our oak tree. I wrap my hand around his arm. “Peeta, come on. We need to talk.”

He yanks his arm away from me and spits back at me, “I wanted to talk last night, but you didn’t want to. So now you do? Now you’ll give me the time of day?”

I circle my arms around my middle and stare down at my feet. I kick a stray rock that I see on the ground. “I’m sorry, Peeta, but do you really think I owe you an explanation about last night? I would think you’d understand. I’m afraid now. I wasn’t before. I thought I was safe here, and now that’s all changed.”

He paces angrily, pulling at the roots of his hair as he huffs, “It killed me when I heard, and then saw, what Cato was doing to you. Don’t you think I replayed that in my head all night? I didn’t get one ounce of sleep since I left your room.”

“I know. I had nightmares too, and they were more terrifying than they ever have been.” I bite my lip as I work up the strength to say what I need to say. “Peeta, he hurt me and scared me, but even more than that, he took away something that I didn’t choose to give him. That I have never given anyone.”

I look away, afraid of how he’ll react. But he surprises me by pulling me into a tight hug, enveloping me in his strong, warm arms. I grasp onto him so tightly, afraid to ever let go. But he releases me first and wipes the drops from my cheeks.

“I’m so sorry, Katniss. What he did— what he did was so heinous, but to do that to someone so pure as you—I loathe him to the very core.” He pulls me closer, his lips so near that I can almost taste him. I tilt forward and hastily touch my lips to his. He steadies himself then nudges me away, his eyes pleading as he asks, “Please forgive me for letting him off the hook. I can turn it around; I can change my story.”

“No, you were right. As much as I’d like to see that asshole burn in hell, we’re a different breed here. We won’t be treated like everyone else on the outside. I understand why you did what you did, and I’m sorry I pushed you away last night.”

He grins nervously and pulls me close again. My tongue swipes my bottom lip as his eyes scan my face. I’m not sure for what, but it feels like he’s searching for something deep inside that I don’t even know exists. And when his eyes focus back on my mouth, I suck in a deep breath of air as my legs tremble, and my stomach clenches. He kisses his finger and traces the outline of my mouth, slowly and tenderly. Then his hand slides back into my hair, pulling me in for a heady kiss. My mind is foggy, and it’s like butterflies fluttering about on my skin as he angles in with greater pressure. All I can do is keep up with him and allow myself to breathe as I hear little inhales through his nostrils.

I never want it to end, but the din of people chattering as they take their “outdoor time” alerts me to the time and place. Our lips part, and I catch my breath as our foreheads meet.

“I’ve wanted to do that since I saw you the first day of school,” he murmurs, his breath hot and quick on my face.

Feeling the need to lighten the mood, I joke, “You kissed like that when you were five?”

He laughs heartily. “Good one! Yes, as a matter of fact, I was saving it for you. From that first day, when I heard you sing, I was a goner.” He takes my hand and guides me away from the others. “And when I was ten and you were in that tree eating cheese buns and tossing morsels to the mockingbirds, I knew you were the one. But when I was fifteen, the world had turned upside down, and I couldn’t see any more future. I lived day by day hoping someone would pull me from the wreckage that was my life.” He bows down to brush his lips against my hand. “And here you are.”

Suddenly the giddiness of the moment changes into something more serious. Peeta is saying that he’s wanted me all his life. That I’m here to rescue him when I’m the person that needs rescuing. I don’t think I can bear that burden.

His hands bracket my arms tightly. “Katniss, stay with me. Don’t be afraid; you don’t owe me anything.” He pulls me in tightly and rubs my back. “I saw your whole mood shift right in front of me. I’m sorry to lay all that on you. You don’t deserve that right now.”

My tension eases as he offers me reassurance. He sits down on a garden bench, and I join him. “Remember when you came into my room the other night and helped me through my nightmare?” I nod and he continues, “I don’t remember the last time I slept more peacefully.”

“Same for me. I slept the most soundly with you, too.”

“Can we start there? Protecting each other from our demons?” The twinkle in his blue eyes is hard to deny. “We can look out for each other that way for now.”

“Until you leave,” I mutter sadly.

“Yeah, until I leave.”

 

* * *

 

I’m in a sterile hospital room. The lights are bright, and I’m standing in a puddle of red sticky blood. It rises and surrounds me as I look around for the source. It’s coming from my skin. Slices spurt out hot blood as it oozes from every cut. It pours out from my body leaving me pale and breathless. I want to cry. I feel so hollow, so empty and alone. The cry comes out from deep within the pit of my soul— more like a strangled howl that no one can hear.

I discern a voice beyond my plaintive wails of solitude. A frantic voice calling to me. I begin to hear more clearly as it becomes louder and closer. “It’s only a dream, Katniss. Wake up. It’s not real.” That litany continues on until my eyes open, the sweat beading on my skin, and my chest moving rapidly for air. “It’s only a dream. Wake up. It’s not real.”

“Peeta?” I bring my hand up to touch his face. He seems real. “Am I awake?”

He says with a worried look, “You are now. I couldn’t sleep so I came to check on you, and you were thrashing and moaning. I had to wake you up.” He sits on the side of the bed and turns to face me again. “I hope you don’t mind.”

“No, I don’t. Thank you for that... for caring about me.”

“I wanted to help you, like you helped me before.” He stands to open the door and turns with a concerned smile. “Well, goodnight.”

“Peeta,” I call out. “Would you stay with me?”

“Of course, Katniss. I’ll stay with you.”

He closes the door, and I lift the covers so he can lie beside me. I feel a rush from my head to my toes being with him at such close proximity, but the thought of having a dreamless night is better than any drug. And as we lie together with his arms wrapped around my torso, those little butterflies flit around my body, waking up something inside me as we both gently fall asleep.

* * *

 

Slivers of light beam through the blinds onto my face. It’s quietly peaceful, no sounds of people roaming the halls just yet. But I sense his presence behind me, his breath wafts against my neck slowly and regularly. It dawns on me that I slept through the night after he came in to help me, and knowing he’s here sleeping calmly makes me smile. We made it through the night together.

Trying not to wake him, I shift my body so I face him. Such a tormented boy shouldn’t look so tranquil, but he does—almost like a child in his innocence while he sleeps. Except for the few piercings and tattoos, he appears just like that boy I knew when I was ten years old. I brush a piece of his blond hair from his brow, wondering how his life changed when he was 15. He said that his whole life turned upside down then, but I’d been so involved in my own sorrow to notice.

I bite my lip inadvertently as my eyes rake down his body. His chest moves in rhythm with his breathing, and if I bring my head close enough to it, I can hear his muffled heartbeat. His stomach is flat and toned, and since his t-shirt is hiked up, I get a glimpse of his pale skin graced by a darker shade of blond hair trailing below his navel down to the waistband of his sweats. I dart my eyes up to his, checking if he’s still asleep.

As he continues to breathe in his hypnotic pace, I resume my study of Peeta Mellark. His legs are thick and long and bend slightly so he fits on the bed. As much as I try to keep my eyes off it, they keep fixating on his... member... penis. I really don’t know what’s the most suitable thing to call it. But when I’ve seen it bulge through other boys’ clothing, I’ve never felt the sensations I feel now. I’ve heard the girls talk about erections, boners, and hard-ons, but I’d yet to understand what they were really talking about.  

Now I know. It does look like a bone, pushing against the soft fabric of his pants. I really want to touch it, but would he find that inappropriate? I quickly check again to see if he’s sleeping and find his eyes still closed, mouth slightly open, lightly snoring as he breathes. I reach out with my left hand hovering over his bulge, but then I stop myself and pull my hand away.

I roll onto my back, my chest heaving with anxiety. Peeta says I’m pure but what a joke. Cato knew better, knew that I’m nothing special. I’ve been under a spell with Peeta, his caring words and kisses making me feel like I’m worthwhile, at least to him. Is it possible that he could accept me as I am—tainted and broken?  

“Hey, what are you thinking about?” he asks, his eyes half open and his voice gravelly from sleep. He brushes a stray hair from my face. “You looked like you were somewhere else just then.”

I flip back to face him. “I was scolding myself.” Do I dare tell him what my filthy mind was thinking? That I wanted to handle him without asking, just like my assailant did to me just the other night.

“Scolding yourself? Is this something you do often?” he smiles and traces ticklish lines along my arm.

I take a full breath and tell him. “I noticed your, um...” I point down to his hard-on and continue. “I wanted to touch it, but you were sleeping.” I cover my face with my hands as soon as the words come out, fearful that my traitorous blush will reveal everything to him.

His raspy chuckle confuses me, as I’m not sure if I should smile or scowl, but when he nuzzles his face in my neck, dusting kisses along my skin, I don’t care anymore. I close my eyes and take it in.

“Would you like to hold my cock?” he murmurs in my ear. “Because I really like waking up to that.”

If I wasn’t blushing before, I certainly am now. “Ew, is that what you call it? So vulgar.”

“That’s what it is. Call it what you like, but a cock is a cock.” I turn onto my back as he props himself over me. “Stop scowling, by the way. You’re so much prettier when you’re not scowling.”

“Yes,” I say softly. His confusion forces me to explain. “You asked if I wanted to hold it— your member. And the answer is yes. I would.”

He smiles and plants a wet kiss on my lips but eases up slowly, combing the hair from my face with his fingers. “Member? You prefer calling it _that_? I hope you’re not learning male anatomy from cheap romance novels,” he teases and kisses me again.

I scoff. “Of course not. I’m not allowed to read that stuff anyway.”

“You really are so pure, aren’t you?” This brings on another scowl that just makes him laugh even more.

Pure. How can he think I’m pure after what I’ve been through? This is not a good idea. I sit up and cover myself protectively with the sheet. “I think you should go back to your room. People will wonder what’s going on with you laughing at me in here.”

He pounces up off the bed, the laughter still rumbling within his chest as he adjusts himself and straightens his shirt. “I’m not mocking you, Katniss. You can call it whatever you like, and you have my permission to touch it whenever you like. But on your own terms, okay?” His face is now a mask of sincerity. “You’re perfect to me, that’s all,” he says, leaning over to give me one last kiss before heading out the door.

I gather my things to shower and dress for the morning, but my mood feels lighter. Even with Madge leaving today, I’m surprised how hopeful I am. I promised Madge that after breakfast and group, I would help her pack up her room, and we could watch a movie in the rec room together. It’s Sunday so they usually play something in the afternoon for the residents that have hung around.

Once a month, they have a bonfire out by the campsite on the property. Since this is Madge’s last day, we’re having a barbecue, too. I heard they sing, cook s’mores, and tell stories, so it might be a highlight of my stay here at P.O. Madge asked to stay late so her parents will pick her up afterward.

The bonfire is meant to allow us to take our old habits and regrets and leave them here in the ashes. Haymitch says we need to leave this place with a clean slate, to dump the past behind us and move forward. He told me once in group that he’s seen many people come and go because they don’t leave their baggage behind. He told us he’d be happy to never see us again.

Although that thought saddens me, it also inspires me. What would it be like to let go of all my crap? How unburdened would I feel, and is it even possible?

So after our short hike out to the campgrounds, we all help in our own way to build the fire, cook the food, and commune as normally as possible. By now, many of the residents that took a weekend leave have returned. Madge says no one wants to miss the bonfire, but Cato is nowhere to be seen. I’m cautiously optimistic that he may never return, but I think that’s just wishful thinking.

I don’t mention his name, for fear our secret will be revealed, but I keep a watchful eye throughout the night. The bonfire blazes a multitude of colors. I think how Peeta would probably be an expert at drawing a likeness of this fire in all its beauty. And no sooner do I think about him than he comes up behind me.

“Have you written out your list?” he asks.

I hold the folded paper in my hand. “Yep,” I reply. “You?”

“Yes, but I have quite a list of regrets. Might set the place on fire,” he laughs sheepishly.

As he looks down at his list, I’m mesmerized by the way his crystal eyebrow stud gleams in the reflected light of the fire. He really is stunning as the glow from our pyre of absolution casts over him.

Afraid I’ll be caught staring, I open my list and silently read through them: 1. Hurting myself by acts of cutting and attempted suicide; 2. Not being a better role model for Prim; 3. Not forgiving my dad for getting killed; 4. Anger toward my mom for not being able to be a parent.

I lift my head after going through my list one last time, and I find Peeta staring at me. He shrugs, giving me an unsure smile and folds his paper as well. We walk toward the bonfire, and I scan the group for Cato, wondering if he silently crept in.

A tug on my arm gets my immediate attention when I turn to find Haymitch at my side. He motions me away from Peeta and the rest of the onlookers. He leans in close and says, “You can stop looking around for Cato. He’s gone.”

“Gone?” I question, confused how he could be so observant.

“He voluntarily transferred to another facility. He won’t be here to bother you anymore,” Haymitch says reassuringly.

“But why do you—”

“Sweetheart,” Haymitch says sternly, his hands grasping my forearms, “I know what happened Friday night. I viewed the security tapes after you all came inside. Their story sounded like such bullshit, I had to see for myself.” He inhales deeply, a look of sadness crossing his face. “Unfortunately, with the party going on, no one was stationed at the cameras watching for any misconduct. I’m sorry about what Cato did, and he’s been penalized greatly for it. Let me know if you want to talk to anyone about pressing charges. You have that right. Peeta told me everything when I talked to him earlier today. I wasn’t able to see you and Cato, but I got a full view of Peeta pinning him down on the ground. Boy’s got some balls; that’s for sure.”

I’m reeling, not understanding fully what he’s telling me. “Wait... security cameras?”

“Yeah, we have them around the grounds and in the public parts of the facility.” He closes in with a conspiratorial look and mutters, “Don’t tell anyone, but there are crazy people here. We’ve gotta keep watch.”

I try to stifle a laugh, but I worry about Peeta for what he did to Cato.

“I know what you’re thinking. Nothing is going to happen to Peeta. He saved you. I know that. Let’s just say that little piece of tape has found a new home.” Haymitch pats his chest over his heart and smiles. “Okay, sweetheart? All is well.”

I don’t know what to say, so I hug him tightly. “Thank you, Haymitch.”

“Go on then, now. Go burn your demons, kid.”

I walk toward Peeta with renewed hope that some things can work out for the better. In spite of what I had to endure with Cato, it could have been worse. And he will have to pay a price for what he’s done. I reach my hand toward my blond boy, and he grasps it firmly.

“Should we do this?”

I nod. “Yes, let’s turn this shit into ashes.”

We crumple our lists into little balls and toss them into the fire, each one igniting and charring until they become dark, powdery ash. Our regrets and misgivings transformed to dust before our very eyes.

* * *

 

The click of the knob has the same effect on me as it has for the past few days. My heart races and my stomach churns, the anticipation making me restless. The door clicks closed, then I feel his weight shift the bed as he lies behind me. He’s been sneaking into my room after lights-out ever since that first night he stayed to comfort me through my nightmare. It’s become something of a luxury sleeping with Peeta.   

“Did anyone see you come in?” I ask, rolling over to get a good look at him. My chest swells at the sight of his crooked grin.

“No, and if they did, they didn’t stop me.”

My sleepy eyes squint as I stretch my arms above my head. My hand finds his hair and gently untangles his mop of waves. He smells like he just got out of the shower, fresh like springtime.

“I’m so glad you’re here.” My hand lingers on his temple, my fingers tracing the shell of his ear and the holes at the top, where his rod used to be. They don’t let us wear all our piercings here, especially those that could be yanked out in a fight.

His sky blue eyes target my slate gray ones, mesmerizing me with his stare. His tongue juts out, moistening his lips. “I’ve been looking forward to this all day, Katniss.” I feel the sibilance of the “s” vibrating through his teeth as he presses his mouth fervently onto mine. I pull him even closer, teasing his mouth open with my tongue, swirling it against his, and tasting hints of the cinnamon toothpaste he uses every night.

I take a quick breath, his earnest gaze stirring wild emotions within me. “I used to dread bedtime, wanting to stay awake all night for fear of being haunted with my past yet again. But you’ve changed that, Peeta. It’s so hard for me to put into words, but I really appreciate you being here to ease me through the night.”

“You’ve done the same for me. You know about my visions and those demons that crawl into my head when I’m only trying to get rest.” His hand finds its way down to my hip, holding me tightly against him. “I feel so guilty because I know what you’ve been through, and as much as I hate to say it, I want to touch you so badly. Every night, I lie here beside you, wishing I could give you pleasure and thank you for everything you’ve done for me.”

The thought of Peeta touching me is exciting, and at the same time, terrifying. I want to stay wrapped up in his arms forever, but I wonder if we take things further, if I’ll just be faced with heartbreak down the road. And if he touches me where Cato did, will I hate him just as much?

I find myself chewing at my lip as I ponder my dilemma. My mouth curves into a grin as I nod my head. “I want the same thing, Peeta. Just please don’t be upset if I change my mind once we get started.”

In the dim light of the room, I see his irises darken as they scan my face. “You need to know that I would never hurt you. And you can say ‘no’ anytime, and I’ll stop immediately.”

“Okay, I understand. I trust you,” I say as I place his hand on my chest.

He watches me with trepidation as his palm gently cups the soft flesh hidden under my nightgown. I hear myself gasp and reflexively arch my back, pressing myself against him. He kisses me again, more urgently now, while he explores my curves and gently kneads my breast.

“Oh, Katniss,” he sighs between kisses as he slides his hand under my nightgown, skimming along my skin, making those familiar butterflies flit around my body once again. He pushes the fabric up to my neck then I pull it over my head to bare myself to him. He stares at me as if I’m the first woman he’s seen, but I know that’s not the case. “You really are perfect.”

He doesn’t take his eyes off mine as he leans down to lick my nipple. I bite my lip and nod approval. “Keep going, Peeta. It feels good.” He does the same to the other one before he holds a breast in each hand, squeezing and sucking and licking them until I feel myself pulsating between my legs, my center slick with desire that I’ve never known before.

I lift my head to see what he’s doing as I feel his stubble scratch my belly. His indigo eyes are still trained on mine, as if to make sure I’m still with him. I prop up on my elbows as he kisses from my navel down to my legs, carefully skipping my panties as he nuzzles around. And as he nips at my inner thighs with tiny bites to my skin, I keen in pleasure, it feels so damn good.

I breathlessly plead, “Peeta, please,” tilting my hips off the bed, trying to slip off my underwear. He looks wary but helps me remove them. His hands graze over my legs, and it’s then that I remember my cuts. I place my hands over my thighs to cover the damage I’ve done to my body, but he brushes them away.

“Katniss, what’s wrong—” He inspects my legs more thoroughly and with more urgency asks, “Katniss?”

I cringe in embarrassment. “I cut sometimes. I know the scars are awful and ugly, but it helps me.”

“It’s not the scars. They’re a part of you. I understand that. But these are fresh cuts, Katniss.” He stares at me plaintively, waiting for an explanation.

“I did it that night... the night Cato attacked me,” I confess. “I just needed a release, but I promise I won’t do it again.”

Peeta stands up at the foot of the bed, distress and concern shrouding the lust he was displaying just moments before. “Where is it?”

I sit up, not knowing to what he’s referring. “Where’s what?”

“The knife, razor, whatever you used to do that to yourself. I don’t know how you got it in here.”

I blow out a defeated breath and remove my pouch from my suitcase. “It’s folded up in one of my pads. You can take it.”

I watch him place it on my nightstand, then he leans over to kiss me. “I care about you, Katniss, and I don’t want anyone to hurt you. And that includes yourself, okay?”

I shake my head in agreement. “Does that mean you’re not going to finish?” I ask timidly, really wishing we didn’t have to stop right then.

He scoffs, then speaks in a lower, more seductive voice, “You can’t get rid of me that easily, Everdeen. Now where were we?” He resumes his position between my legs, kissing the scars—new and old. Then he takes his large hands and gently pushes on my knees, gliding his mouth up my inner thighs.

I acquiesce, relaxing my legs the best I can and letting him do as he pleases, so when his nose nudges me right in the center, I practically convulse from the sensation.

“I’m only going to use my tongue on you. No fingers—not yet. Understand?” I shake my head quickly, nodding my approval. “Remember, it’s just you and me. No one can take this from us. Okay?”

“Mmmhmm,” I encourage while jutting my pelvis toward him. He takes my bait as he spreads my legs with his strong hands and laps his tongue right up the center. I jolt, but I want more. “Again,” I request, and he does. My hands flail from pulling my own hair to gripping the sheets to yanking Peeta’s locks as he smothers me with sucks and licks and kisses in my most private place.

I feel out of control but in a decadent way. Peeta is definitely a master with his tongue, finding all the perfect spots to linger. I feel myself clenching and tightening below. My head is fuzzy as lights flicker behind my eyelids. I pull his head against me as I tremor and release, wetness flowing from me as I relax with a satiated moan. He crawls up toward my stomach, wiping his face on the sheets as he lies next to me and wraps me in his arms.

“You taste fucking delicious, Katniss,” he says as he rains kisses behind my ear. “Please let me do that again very soon.”

I feel warm in a whole new way, my body limp but full of energy. I don’t want to stop; I want to please him too, so I leisurely turn and grasp him, fully erect, in my hand. I squeeze him tightly through his sweats just like I wanted to do that first morning we were together. Still completely nude, I straddle him in my bed and playfully order him to remove his shirt.

“Yes, ma’am.” He thrusts his t-shirt over his head and tosses it on the floor. “Damn. What kind of monster have I created here?”

I press my chest to his as I kiss him forcefully, spurred on by the feeling of his hard-on grazing my crotch. My fingers comb through his golden hair as his hands cup and massage my ass. His mouth absorbs my moans as I revel in all these new sensations. We’re writhing against each other, trying to get the other off through a veil of sweatpants. They must come off, so I reach my hands down, pushing the waistband.

“These have got to go,” I mutter breathlessly. “I want you, Peeta.”

He shakes his head and lightly pushes me off him. “We need to take it slower than that. I don’t want you to regret anything between us. Okay?” He chuckles at my scowl but explains, “This is about you tonight. Don’t worry about pleasing me right now. I want you to feel safe with me, that’s all.”

I sigh, curling into Peeta’s side as we lie together quietly. My head resting on his chest, our skin never losing contact. “I never want this moment to end,” I say wistfully, knowing full well that Peeta leaves in less than two weeks—ten days to be exact.

 

* * *

 

The pounding pulls us out of bed and the loud voice calls, “Katniss, have you seen Peeta? He’s missing from his room, and no one’s seen him since lights-out.”

I rush to the door, applying some pressure from my small frame to prevent someone from witnessing Peeta hastily putting on his clothes. “No, uh, have you tried Thresh’s or Finnick’s rooms? Maybe he’s hanging out with them?” I holler. I whisper to Peeta to hide on the other side of my bed.

I open the door a crack once I’ve donned my robe. I peer out and see that whoever was inquiring is gone. I turn toward my bed and whisper loudly, “Go to the bathroom... now.” I watch the area carefully for cover when I feel Peeta slide out of my room quietly and saunter down the hall to the men’s bathroom.

Before I go back inside, I hear the same voice, probably Darius, the red-haired security guard, talking to Peeta down the other hallway. Knowing Peeta’s way with words, I’m sure he’s weaving a believable tale to explain his whereabouts.

I gather my things and head to the shower as Peeta lingers in my mind. The blond-haired boy that once was my childhood friend is now my—what? Boyfriend, lover, friend with benefits? He’s so many things to me right now, and I’m hoping it’s not just my loneliness that has made me so attached to him. My mind keeps nagging at me, reminding me that he’s leaving soon. He’ll be out of my life, and I’ll have to go back with the Crays and find some way to earn a living by the time I’m 18.

I wait in line for my meds, then get through breakfast, group, and individual therapy. We have a small amount of free time before lunch, so I take a nap in my room, feeling drowsier than usual. My bed smells like Peeta and sex. It’s a heady but pleasant aroma. I cuddle in my pillow, stuffing it under my neck just so and close my eyes.

When I hear a soft rapping on my door, I’m disoriented but quickly realize I’d taken a nap. It must be lunch time. I straighten my clothes and pat down the hair that fell loose from my braid to find Johanna at my door.

“Brainless, you missed lunch. Here—” She hands me a sandwich wrapped in plastic. “Get yourself together and come down to group. I didn’t want anyone questioning what might be going on in your room. Got it?” She smirks as her brown eyes glisten.

“Got it.” I nod and tell her I’ll be right down.

Her message was clear. Peeta and I need to be much more discreet. I look at the soiled sheets and wad them up, shoving them into the hamper at the end of the hall. I quickly make my bed with the extra linens in my room and head down to group chomping on my sandwich as I walk down.

It’s a strange feeling being almost halfway through my stay here and seeing all the newbies come in, hearing their stories as if they are the only ones being rocked by the trauma in the world. I’m not bitter or soured by everyone’s issues, but I’ve come to realize that we all have drama in our lives, and it’s how we deal with it that matters.

The problem is that when our brain chemistry is all screwed up, medications only do so much. I know there will be high points and low points, but I need to make this work for myself so I can be back with my sister and live my life.

I actually feel like I want to live. I want to stay alive now. I’m not sure if it’s because of Peeta or Madge or Haymitch or a simple act like bitchy Johanna caring enough to bring me lunch.

I finally have some hope. I’m supposed to leave a week after Peeta does, and I feel optimistic that I can make this work. My fear is that I won’t have all these people around me to reinforce all that I’ve learned. But getting through groups, doing the work, and staying connected with all my new friends will be of utmost importance for me to be successful.

* * *

 

Peeta and I make it through his final days, never getting busted about our sleeping arrangement. I admit I’m anxious about how I’m going to make it through the night without him, but I’m going to have to learn since he won’t be with me at home. We’ve been fooling around but haven’t gone all the way. As much as we’ve been tempted to do it, we decided it would be best if we hold off until we can have a more permanent relationship.

In that vein, he wants to have a date today during our meditation time. He told me to be dressed up and ready for him at 3:00 in the garden. We’re having a graduation party tonight, but he said he wanted me all to himself before the festivities, and ultimately, before his parents come to pick him up afterward.

Luckily, Madge left me one of her cute outfits so I wouldn’t feel like a prom queen at our next party. It’s a simple, strappy teal dress that just covers my thighs and fits surprisingly well. Madge is more endowed than I am in the chest, so I thought it would hang on me too loosely, but it is actually flattering to my figure.

Peeta must agree as his mouth is agape when I meet him in the rose garden. I laugh and feel the blush rise to my cheeks. He approaches and pulls me closer, brushing his lips lightly on mine for a chaste kiss.

I pull away, looking around, but no one seems to take notice of us. “Peeta,” I chide, “what if someone catches us?”

“Let them,” he challenges. “I’m leaving tonight. What are they going to do? Throw me out?”

He glides his gaze from head to toe, licking his lips as he does so. “God, I’m going to miss you, Katniss.” An audible sigh leaves his lips as he presses himself against me and mutters in my ear, “I’m not sure how I’m going to manage without you. My mom is such a witch. I have to steer clear of her at all costs so I don’t get into more trouble.”

“Oh Peeta, you can do it. We’ll both have to be strong. We’ll be 18 soon enough and can do what we want.” I pause, gauging his reaction, and his eyes bore through me with an intensity that always causes my heart to do somersaults. “Why did you ask me out here today?”

“I wanted to get one last moment with you out here. I thought the rose garden would be perfect for another portrait.” He flashes a grin and points to his drawing pad and pencil that are lying on the stone bench.

I roll my eyes, the thought of him wanting to draw me makes me uncomfortable but excited at the same time. He tells me to stand by the rose bush and act natural. How do I act natural? When has anyone wanted to sketch my likeness in a garden?

So I reach toward a beautiful red rose and pull it toward me. It’s long stemmed so I don’t have to bend over to smell its fragrant scent. I try to break it off at the joint, but a thorn nicks my finger, and I jump. I inspect my injury, and it’s only a little blood dripping so I apply some pressure until it stops.

“Sorry, Peeta. We’ll take a short break while my blood is clotting. I know, so gross, huh?”

He’s rapidly sketching, barely noticing I’ve said anything. He looks up and blinks. “What happened to your finger?”

“Just a little thorn, that’s all.” I show him my injury, and he nods then returns his pencil back to the paper to finish his drawing.

“It’s rough, but I can fine tune the details and add color later,” he says and shows me the quick sketch he drew.

“It’s beautiful, Peeta. You have such a way of capturing the moment. I love it.”

“Thanks,” he hangs his head down shyly and places the pad and pencil in his pack. “I wanted something to remember you by. Maybe I’ll keep it next to me in bed,” his cocky half-grin appears but quickly changes into worry. “Let’s walk a bit,” he adds, taking my hand in his and grabbing his backpack with the other.

“What’s wrong?” I ask, concerned about his sudden mood change.

“I need to tell you something. It’s crucial that I’m completely honest with you if we’re ever going to be friends—or more, outside of this place.” He walks me toward our oak tree. Our sanctuary.

Once we get there, he finds a place in the shade, and we set down the blanket from his pack, taking a seat together on the soft fabric. He turns to me, holding my hands inside both of his. His expression is so distressed, I’m not certain if I want to hear what he has to say.

“Back when your father died and your mom was having a rough time with it, remember how you would come to the bakery, and I’d give you our day-old bread?”

I nod, remembering that quite well. It helped me and Prim survive during those hungry days. A neighbor lady, Miss Sae, gave us her stew and came to clean occasionally, too.

“Well, my mom eventually caught on to what I was doing. And I don’t know how much you remember, but she can hit when she’s pissed, and I got the brunt of her anger.” He nervously runs his hand along the back of his neck. “She told me that the next time I help out ‘that Everdeen girl,’ she’ll call the authorities. So, naturally, I tried to keep anything I did to help you a secret.”

It starts to make sense now why Peeta had suddenly stopped talking to me in public and how I would occasionally find a bag of rolls and buns on my doorstep. “It was you that left the food at my door. And you didn’t hate me or think less of me because my father died,” I say matter of factly, almost more to myself than to him.

“You thought I hated you?” he says, his eyes glossy with threatening tears. “It was the opposite actually. I really liked you but didn’t have the nerve to say anything and felt so badly about what you and Prim had to do just to stay alive.” He exhales a deep breath, taking my cut finger in his hand and kissing the injury. “So when she found out I was making those morning rounds before school, she went ballistic.”

I cover my gaping mouth with my free hand, not knowing if I can hear more. “What did she do?” I ask against my own will.

“She basically beat the truth out of me to the point where I had to miss school for a few days until the bruises that I couldn’t cover healed.” He takes a moment then continues, “She made me sit there and listen to her call Child Protective Services. She’s the one that called, Katniss, and I’m so fucking sorry.” His sobs open the dam of his restrained tears as they fall one after the other onto his pink cheeks.

I do the only thing I know how to do and grab onto him as hard as I can, wrapping my arms around his neck and pulling him close to me. I rock him back and forth, my shushing and his sobbing slowing down with the calming movement.

I frame his face with my hands and look deeply into his watery eyes. “Peeta, you were a kid. You did nothing wrong, and I’m sorry if you’ve been blaming yourself all these years, but thank you for telling me. It gives me some peace of mind to know what happened.” As much as I hate to say it, it’s got to be said. “And honestly, Prim and I shouldn’t have been put in that situation by my mother. It was right for your mom to call, even if she did it with the wrong intentions. Who knows if I would have survived to this point?”

“I asked around, making sure that you and Prim were doing okay in the community home and making it to school. But when I heard that you were placed in foster care and split up, I couldn’t handle it and went home one day to finally tell my mother how I felt about her.”

“Oh no, Peeta! What did you do?”

“I told her she was not my mother, and I didn’t want anything to do with her, that I was tired of being her punching bag. Then I shoved her hard against the counter and walked the hell out of that place.” Peeta’s expression is resolute, his crying stops as quickly as it had started. “I took off and found places I could stay. That’s why you never saw me at school. I was a truant, a runaway, homeless by my own choice.”

“Shit, what are you going to do at home? Have you even seen her since then?” I’m frantic that Peeta will regress around his mother.

“Dad set up a place in the garage for me. It has its own door so I can keep to myself. He suggested we do family therapy but doesn’t know if she will even participate.” He kisses my knuckles. “Don’t worry about me. I’ll be okay.”

My finger reaches to his upturned lips, tracing the pink swell as he smiles. “That’s what I want to see.” I push myself onto my knees and give him a passionate kiss, one that I hope he’ll keep with him until the party tonight. “Who would have thought that Peeta Mellark had kept such good track of me?”

His eyes twinkle as he nips the tip of my nose. “I remember everything about you. You’re the one who wasn’t paying attention.”

 

* * *

 

Tonight’s graduation party saddens me because not only will I not see Peeta for a while, but Thresh and Johanna are leaving, too. As much as Thresh keeps to himself and Johanna can be a pain, I feel we have a mutual respect for one another. We all stand around holding our cups of punch as we reminisce about our time here at P.O. All the while, I’m trying desperately to maintain my composure.

Haymitch gives his speech about each of the grads, and we chime in, adding our thoughts, like we did for Madge when she left. They play some music, and there’s even a karaoke machine that Effie brought in for the event. It’s a bittersweet night.

Finnick comes up to me and Peeta, slapping him hard on the back. His smile is so wide, his dimples run deep. “Peeta, you’re going to need someone to watch over your lady, and I think I’m the right candidate for the job.” Finn winks at me and makes a kissy face. “But, once I get done with her, I’m not sure she’ll be knocking on your door again, my friend.”

Peeta laughs and teases, “Just try, my friend, just try.”

“That’s right. I forgot Peeta has a way of making people disappear once they mess with his girl. Catch _you_ later, honey,” he says pointedly at me, then cracks his gum as he walks away.

Peeta looks ready to pounce, and I hold him back. “Peeta, he’s taunting you. Don’t you see that? He’s messing with your head, but he’s only been nice to me.”

His nostrils flare, and his jaw clenches in anger. “If anyone does anything to you, I swear—”

“Shh, he’s not going to hurt me, and it’s only going to be one more week.”

His gaze drifts back to me, and he relaxes. “Sorry about my temper, but if Finnick really knew what Cato did, he wouldn’t dare tease us like that.”

“I’m sure he doesn’t know. Probably just some rumors that got twisted out of context.” I smile at Peeta, taking in his handsome countenance. “Let’s have a nice evening so you’ll leave in a good mood. Okay?”

“Okay,” he agrees. He looks over toward the crowd by the karaoke machine. “Let’s make fun of Johanna singing _Girls Just Wanna Have Fun_.”

 

* * *

 

As the night winds down, Peeta pulls me aside. “Listen, my parents will be here soon. I want you to meet them, but I think I’ll be pushing it if I introduce you to them right now. Do you mind if we say our goodbyes here?”

I curl my arms around his neck, my fingers raking through the short hairs at his nape. “I don’t mind at all. I would be a terrified wreck if I had to meet your parents right now.”

He cups my jaw, caressing my cheek with his thumb as he so often does. He doesn’t kiss me but examines my face, his eyes flitting from one feature to another as if he’s trying to store me in his memory. And I hate to admit that I’m doing the same to him. This is so much more difficult than I anticipated, and I tell him so.

“We’ll see each other soon. I mean, if you still want me and you allow it,” he says with a tone of uncertainty.

I run my finger along his eyebrows and down his nose, smiling at the way his brow crinkles as I finish. “Of course I’ll allow it. Let’s take it one step at a time. We can do this, right?” Now my eyes fill up, and I tell myself to hold back, to wait until he leaves so I can weep alone in my room.

He leans down and presses his lips to mine, lingering and sucking my bottom lip while I loll my head back into his palm. My mouth is open to him as he gives me one last taste of his tongue, solid and sweet like him. We stay in our heated embrace for several minutes, kissing like it’s the last time we’ll be together, and it’s only when we hear some scuffling of the residents that we reluctantly part.

“Can I walk you up?” he asks.

I want him to walk me up and stay all night, but that can’t happen. Not yet. “You don’t know how badly I want that, but it will be easier for both of us if I walk up alone.”

He drops his head and nods. “Okay, so be it. Damn, Katniss, I don’t want to leave you.” He envelops me in his arms tightly, mumbling into my hair that he swears it will be the last time... just one last time.

“Stop it. You’re going to make me cry, and I promised myself I wouldn’t. At least not here in front of everyone.”

“Okay, I’m sorry.” He walks backward and blows me a kiss. “Goodnight.”

I take a step back toward the stairs and issue the same wish, “Goodnight, Peeta. Sweet dreams.” I blow him a kiss as well, and he catches it, making me smile one last time before I turn and bound up the stairs.

It’s like pulling off a bandaid; I had to do it or he would have never left. Once in my room, I close the door behind me and sink to the floor, blubbering like a child. I honestly don’t know how long I remain in this position, but when I finally run out of tears, I prop myself up to sit on my bed.

“What’s this?” I wonder out loud, holding a furry brown bear in front of me. There’s a ribbon around his neck with a handwritten tag: _Here’s a bed buddy for you since blondie had to go. I called him Blight, but you can name him whatever you like. Your friend, Jo_

I smile through more tears, never realizing that Johanna had a heart in her until recently. I lie on my side, holding Blight close to me. “Well buddy, looks like it’s just you and me.” As I roll onto my back to stare at the ceiling, I feel something crinkle under the sheets. I sit up and peel back the covers to find a large folded paper with Peeta’s writing. In his script, it reads: _Katniss, This is how I see you. Love, Peeta_.

I unfold the paper to find it was protecting the first pencil drawing he sketched of me under our oak tree. That was the first time I actually thought I could be beautiful, and he left it for me with a caption: _Never forget_.

I flop back onto my pillow, hugging Blighty and tracing those words with my finger over and over.

The soft knock on my door gives me a momentary rush. "Come in,” I say hopefully.

Finnick pops his head in, “You okay?”

“Yeah, thanks.”

“I hope you know I was only joking with you guys earlier. Just to, you know, make it lighter. I know how hard it is to leave someone you love.” He looks away like he’s trying to shake off a bad memory. “But I’m here if you need someone to help.”

“Thanks, Finn. I appreciate it.” His lips curve slightly as he says goodnight and closes the door. I consider his words— _someone you love_ —and wonder if it’s at all possible. I grab the paper with Peeta’s note and stare at his words: _Love, Peeta_.

“What do you think, Blighty?” I chuckle as I tilt his head in agreement. My thoughts are interrupted with the nightly call of lights-out from the hallway.

“Lights out, buddy,” I sigh as I switch off my lamp.

**Author's Note:**

> This is my fourth round participating in PiP, and it’s been such a great learning experience and a pleasure! So sad to see it come to an end, but I must thank Jessa (misshoneywell) for her dedication in coordinating these challenges, providing us with a constant supply of Everlark for years to come! 
> 
> Big hugs to my dream team: Lisa, myusernamehere, for editing like a champ; Caryn, papofglencoe, for beta duties; and Kelly, allhailthehutch, for prereading and giving me confidence!


End file.
